


Who You Gonna Call?

by K_Hanna_Korossy



Category: The Real Ghostbusters
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-22
Updated: 2016-01-22
Packaged: 2018-05-15 12:56:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,791
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5786053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/K_Hanna_Korossy/pseuds/K_Hanna_Korossy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's good to have someone you can call for help anytime, even if it's for something as mundane as a broken-down car.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Who You Gonna Call?

First published in  _Ghostwriters_ (2000)

 

The car was dead.

Egon Spengler, PhD in more than one field and, modestly, a mechanical genius, didn’t actually know much about car engines, but this much he was sure of. The old line from Star Trek, “It’s dead, Jim,” floated absurdly through his head; he’d clearly been spending too much time watching TV with Ray. But that wasn’t relevant. What was, was that he was stuck with a car that wouldn’t be going anywhere, on an empty stretch of road several miles from any sign of civilization other than the long ribbon of highway. And, he thought with a wry glance at the sky, naturally this was the time the heavy clouds overhead had finally made good their threat and begun to sprinkle snow. Not heavily at least, but the fat, wet flakes were the perfect crown to the day.

At least the physics conference had been excellent, an exciting conglomeration of notable scientists, including several friends and former colleagues Egon had been most looking forward to talking to again. The physicist couldn’t understand why his fellow Ghostbusters hadn’t shared his enthusiasm for the opportunity, but to their credit, his friends had been happy for him, rearranging the schedule to accommodate his trip while Janine made every arrangement for him with, ahem, a decided devotion. Right down to the rental car that sat uselessly next to him on the road.

And the conference _had_ been a terrific exercise for the intellect, sometimes downright inspirational in the theories presented and discussed. Egon found the conversation and atmosphere refreshing and stimulating, a reminder anew of why he’d gone into this field in the first place. His father’s wishes had been clear, but Egon had always found his own pleasure in science. As the conference had drawn to a close though, Spengler had also found himself strangely anxious to return to New York despite the fascinating company and even the beautiful New England landscape. As much as he’d enjoyed it all, he’d been ready to go home.

And then, while taking a shortcut along one of the more back roads, the car had hit a patch of black ice and spun out into a ditch, doomed not to rise again while in Egon’s care. Thankfully, he himself hadn’t been hurt, but still, there wasn’t an emergency phone in sight along the highway, nor could Egon recall having seen one since the small rest stop he’d passed a few miles back. Which would have to be his destination unless he wanted to sit there and freeze, hoping someone would both pass by and stop.

With one last disgruntled look at the deceased car and a mutter under his breath about lesser machines, Egon wrapped his coat more tightly around him and set off along the edge of the road, the gentle snow wet on his face.

 

More than a couple of miles, actually; approximately 5.5 by Egon’s weary count. The descending night and slowly gathering snow hadn’t helped much, the cold eventually soaking through his shoes and turning his feet into unfeeling blocks of ice. His hands he’d kept tucked into his pocket, but his face had fared little better than his feet, numb and no doubt bright red. It had been with genuine relief that he’d rounded the last hillock and caught sight of his destination.

The rest stop was no bigger than he’d remembered it despite his hopes, little more than a scenic overlook and a pair of bathrooms with a plastic-mounted map in the alcove in between. A battered snack machine was tucked into one corner, almost full with junk food but, unfortunately, no coffee or cocoa. Egon ignored it, too cold and tired to be hungry, and besides, his throat felt scratchy and raw from the cold. But just past the vending machine, also in the shadows of the alcove had been the treasure he’d been looking for: two payphones, side-by-side. Egon clumped over to them and reluctantly withdrew his bare fingers to pick up the icy receiver.

The dial tone was music to his frosted ears. Egon had no calling card or enough change for what would certainly still be a long distance call, but that wasn’t an issue, not for whom he was calling. He didn’t hesitate to punch the “0” button with a slightly shivering hand, moving from one foot to another to try to keep warm with exercise.

“Hello, Operator? I’d like to place a collect call...” A minute later he could hear Winston accept the charge, and then they were connected.

 _“Egon? Everything okay, m’man?”_ The concerned question came before he’d even had a chance to open his mouth.

“Yes, Winston, thank you, I’m fine, but I seem to be stranded. The car ran off the road several miles back and--”

 _“It_ _what?”_ Winston had a fairly level head for which Egon had often had chance to be grateful, but even he sounded worried. _“You sure you’re okay?”_ From the background came another voice, questioning.

“I wasn’t injured but I’m afraid the car is incapacitated.” The words were sticking to his stiff lips and he opted for shorter ones, and more to the point. Peter would have been delighted. “I’m afraid I’m still about an hour out but could you please call the rental office and see if they could come pick me and the car up?”

A _click_ indicated another extension being picked up, and Peter immediately spoke up. _“Forget that, Egon--we’ll come get you. You sure you’re okay? What happened? Where are you?”_ If Winston was concerned, Peter’s tone was outright worried.

Winston was the one who answered, a smile in his voice. _“Take it easy, Pete, he’s all right and we’ll get the details when we see him. He’s right, though, Egon, we’ll come out and pick you up. Where are you?”_

Egon shook his head, dislodging a few flakes left in his hair, which didn’t melt quickly on his cold nose. “There’s no need for you to come out here in this bad weather. The car was insured and the rental company--”

 _“Where the heck are you, Egon?”_ That was Peter, all exasperation now. Egon smiled a little despite himself. Arguing with the psychologist then would be a lost cause and they both knew it.

He gave in gracefully, explaining as best he could where he was. Winston took down the payphone’s number, too, just in case they needed to pinpoint him that way.

 _“Stay right there, Egon, and we’ll be out there soon,”_ Peter vowed, having stayed unhappily silent during the information exchange.

“But drive cautiously--it’s begun to snow up here and the roads were already slippery, Peter.” That was certainly an understatement, Egon thought with a grimace, working hard to keep his teeth from chattering.

 _“Snow?”_ Winston echoed in surprise. Apparently it hadn’t reached the city. _“Egon, maybe we should call the nearest police or ranger station and have them pick you up.”_

He’d thought of that already. “I doubt they would arrive much sooner than you would and I am in no immediate danger here, Winston.” Well, as much as a human icicle could be, but he was certain he was not at risk for hypothermia yet. Even his toes had begun to unthaw a little in the relative shelter of the alcove. A cold was probably a foregone conclusion, but give or take a few minutes waiting either way wouldn’t hurt him any more.

 _“We’ll be there soon, Egon, just stay warm and don’t accept a ride from strangers--unless they’re pretty and female, of course.”_ Peter added the last slyly, but he sounded far less offhand than usual. He would stay worried about Egon until he had the physicist in front of him to check over from top to bottom and reassure himself as to Egon’s well-being. He didn’t even wait for the blond’s answer, the phone clicking down immediately as he most hurried off to get ready to go. His impatient mutter was audible even through Winston’s connection, and Egon heard Zeddemore chuckle in response.

_“All right, Pete, I’m coming. Egon, like the man said, we’ll be there soon.”_

“I’ll be here,” he answered, then made a face. Of course he’d be there; where else would he be? The cold had to be affecting his brain, Egon thought with chagrin, but Winston didn’t seem to think anything of it, ending with a quick good-bye before he, too, hung up.

The line went dead, and after a moment, the dial tone returned. Funny, the sound seemed a lot lonelier this time.

Egon hung up the phone, grateful at least to return his hands to the relative warmth of his pockets. The weather wasn’t the worst New York could offer, he was gratefully aware; north of the city, nearing the mountains like this, it could get cold enough that it would have been risky to be out for as long as Egon was, not to mention the potential heavy snows. But still...he would have willingly traded even his favorite PKE meter for a mug of hot cocoa and a fireplace to sip it by. Egon stamped his feet again, cinching his arms tighter around himself for warmth. As it was, he would definitely be grateful when his friends arrived to pick him up.

Friends...the best of friends, who would be willing to come out in that weather, in the deepening night, just to pick him up and get him home sooner. Egon’s stomping slowed a little as he considered that. He hadn’t even had to think about who to call--dialing home had been automatic, and for the very reason he called it “home.” His family lived there, and they were always the ones he turned to when he needed help.

Home hadn’t always meant that. Growing up, he’d been well taken care of, of course, truly loved by both his parents. But it had been a love more of theory than practice; Egon knew it was there and saw proof of it in his environment, yet rarely felt its effect directly. That was simply not the way his parents were, at least back then. His mom had changed a lot since his father’s death, opening up and showing more affection. When he was little, though...he’d never thought to miss it. You couldn’t miss what you didn’t know. When Egon had once, in fact, been stranded during his teen years, stuck at school after hours without a ride home because he’d not thought about it beforehand, it hadn’t even occurred to him to call home for a ride. He’d found the nearest bus stop, figured out the schedule, and finally, two hours later, arrived at his house. Nor had anyone thought to ask him why he’d been so late to arrive.

And then these three strangers had come into his life one at a time, not related to him by blood, and become first friends, then family. Egon would have defied anyone who would have argued otherwise, even as the nature of friendship continued to mystify him. Undeserved, selfless, sometimes even illogical: it defied classification in Egon’s neat, ordered world. And yet there it was, and he wouldn’t have changed a bit of it for the world.

A strong breeze whipped up, sending a swirl of wet flakes to invade the relative shelter of the alcove. Egon turned his back to the wind, hunching more deeply into his coat. Even a quick glance at his watch made him shiver harder as the chill slivered down his exposed coat sleeve, and the result had been disappointing, only 20 minutes since he’d called. It would be close to three-quarters of an hour at least before he could hope for the guys’ arrival, probably longer on uncertain roads. In the meantime, he was already coughing a little and his throat felt abraded from the cold. With a reluctant sigh, Egon resolved himself once more to hopping from foot to foot to keep moving and fend off a little of the chill.

Well, at least he would earn a little fetching and carrying when he got home, Egon thought with an ironic smile. That was usually Peter’s forte, but as much as the psychologist demanded the extra attention when he was the least bit under the weather or injured on a bust, he was also lavish in giving it when one of his friends was the same. Albeit cheerfully complaining all the way. It was one of the mass of apparent contradictions that made sense to Egon in the person of his best friend. Their friendship would have rivaled Felix and Oscar for the title of “Odd Couple,” but it was from the outgoing Venkman that Egon had gotten all his paradigms of what a friend should be.

And it had been, in part, those lessons that had then allowed him to become as close as he had to Ray Stantz not much later, to see what the younger man was really like and to find it in himself to respond. Their trio formed their own sort of family, in a sense that Egon had never known before. By the time Winston came along, all three of them had learned a lot, enough that their fourth member’s addition was almost seamless.

And for the first time in his life, Egon truly had a home, with three brothers whom he could call on no matter what. Science had given his life direction, but it was in the family he made that Egon found his meaning.

A car engine sounded in the distance, but Egon just tucked himself further into his meager corner. A few cars had already passed by during his trek to the rest stop and subsequent wait, but no one had shown any interest in stopping for him and, late as it was, Egon had no desire to play up his helplessness. Most likely the car would pass him by without even seeing him, and that was fine by the physicist. Besides, even if his friends hadn’t been coming, this car was headed in the wrong direction, away from the city instead of towards it, to have been able to give him a ride anyway.

It approached, seeming to slow as it did. Surely they weren’t stopping there? Well, he’d just have some explaining to do then, if he could unclench his jaw long enough to clatter the words out.

But it seemed he knew that engine rumble...

The car stopped, its tires crunching the gravel even through the few inches of snow, and Egon uncurled himself reluctantly to peer around the map, refusing to let his irrational hopes get too high.

“EEEGON!” His name was suddenly screeched with an impatient worry that was entirely, wonderfully familiar. And there stood Ecto, her headlights slicing through the dark, cold night, almost blinding him. Peter stood by its open front passenger door, eyes anxiously sweeping the area for any sign of life.

“Peter.” It didn’t come out very loud and he was only managing a shuffle by then, his limbs wooden from the cold and inactivity, but the psychologist’s gaze found him at once. He immediately skirted Ecto’s door and bounded over.

“Egon! Geez, you look like a popsicle. You okay? Dumb question, ‘course you’re not okay, you’re frozen solid. Listen, we’ve got Ecto all warmed up for you and some stuff in the car to thaw you out, okay? I think we should swing by the hospital on the way, though, you’re pretty blue. Can you feel everything?”

The words had come out in a long rush leaving Egon no time for response, but that was for the best for Egon’s jaw ached from the effort to keep it from shivering and he didn’t think he could talk very well if he had to. But that didn’t matter, he felt a little less cold already with the arm Peter had thrown around the shoulders to guide him along to the car. He curled a little into the grasp, grateful for the touch of something that didn’t leach heat from him. Truth be told, he’d already warmed just from the sound of Peter’s anxious holler and the realization that his friends had arrived.

“Okay, buddy, climb in.” Peter was bundling him into the back seat a moment later. He hadn’t been lying; the car was roasting inside, surely hotter than Winston up front or Peter had been comfortable in, but to Egon it was blissful. Winston turned in his seat in time to catch Egon’s cracked smile of pleasure, and had offered him a wider one back that Egon could see even through his suddenly fogged glasses.

“Sorry we couldn’t get here faster, but we’ll have you warmed up in no time.”

The thawing of his face ironically made his teeth chatter more viciously than ever, belaying any response Egon could have given, but Winston had already righted himself and turned the car back toward the city.

Peter had paused long enough to close the front door and then had crawled in after Egon, shutting the back door behind him. Now he was fussing again, coaxing Spengler out of his coat before the physicist could protest, and into another, already warmed jacket. They must have had it on the blower on the way there--it fairly radiated heat--and Egon could feel the warmth begin to penetrate his shirt, and then his chest, soon after. Peter kept moving, down to his feet next to rid him of socks and shoes and again replace them with heated woolens. Egon would have been embarrassed at all the coddling if it didn’t feel so good. As it was, he was too busy trying to still his frantic shivering to worry much about propriety.

Peter was still going on, his words a running commentary on oblivious physicists who didn’t watch where they were going and cars that ran off roads and the snow that was falling a little heavier now, crusting the windows on either side of the car and the windshield wipers. It didn’t seem so cold or unpleasant now, looking at it from the inside, Egon mused as he listened to Peter just enough to let the psychologist’s voice wend through him, relaxing him, warming him further with the heat of its concern. A thermos had appeared from somewhere, and when it was apparent that his shaking hands would only slosh the contents out, Peter’s hands wrapped around his and guided them. Coffee, still warm, almost just what Egon had wished for and twice as heavenly as he’d imagined. And when he’d drunk enough to be able to feel his tongue again, Peter’s hands still remained curled around his, chafing them. They stopped only long enough to add one more thing, a thick, heavy blanket wrapped around Egon’s shoulders.

In truth, all the layers were beginning to feel almost suffocating, especially in the heat of the car, but his exposed face and hands were still tingling and aching from the cold and so Egon didn’t fight it. Actually, being warm again at all, let alone starting to feel it seep down deep into his body where the chill had settled, was such a comfort, he didn’t dream of complaining. Even Peter’s ongoing litany of mild complaints just added to the coziness, and as soon as his jaw cooperated, he’d inserted a few meek, “Yes, Peter”’s of his own.

It was only when the hospital came up again that he mustered himself to more. “I’m hardly freezing to death, Peter,” he protested dryly. “I’m doing fine now, thank you.” And then spoiled it by sneezing twice in a row.

Peter suddenly grinned at him, his worry beginning to fade at the signs of progress. “All right, all right. Rallying, huh? Good. For a minute there, I thought your brain froze.”

That wasn’t a particularly pleasant thought, but Egon managed a proper stern glance in response, and was pleased to see his friend’s delight at the look. Then another thought struck. “Where’s Ray?”

Winston shrugged in the front seat, not turning as he answered, “Visiting Aunt Lois. He thought he’d go spend some time with her while you were gone, and we figured we’d see how you were doin’ before we called him.”

Brain freeze or not, and Egon still winced at the notion, his thoughts and tongue were moving faster. “Absolutely not. I’m perfectly fine.” Three more sneezes followed that proclamation, as did an almost sympathetic smile from Peter and the offer of a tissue. He took the tissue but didn’t return the smile. “But I’m afraid the car will have to be towed.”

Winston waved his hand. “Already taken care of. We called them on the way up.”

Oh. Egon almost shook his head; he should have realized his friends would think of that. But that reminded him... He sneezed again. “How _did_ you get up here so quickly?”

Peter grinned once more, mischief in his eyes, the kind of look that always made Egon cringe and want to grin back at the same time. “Well, between using the lights and sirens to get out of the city, and Winston’s best Indy 500 driving, we did okay. Couldn’t let you have all the fun up here by yourself.”

The answer was what he half-expected, and Egon didn’t know if he should shake his head or say thank you. Not that his friends would be expecting it--they knew how he felt. Anyway, a sneeze came on instead, turning into several, and Peter just pressed another tissue into his hand, looking much more sympathetic now. After Egon blew his nose, Venkman unobtrusively pulled the blanket a little more comfortably around him, and then sat back next to the physicist, his shoulder propping up Egon’s. Every time Egon sneezed or moved, he could feel his friend’s gaze on him, but the car fell otherwise companionably silent as they approached the city. Going home.

The fatigue of being so cold and the long walk and late hour wrapped around him like another blanket, and Egon felt himself slipping into it, his eyes shutting on their own. His throat was scratching uncomfortably--a cold would surely be imminent, he noted with tired disinterest--but even that wasn’t enough to keep him awake.

A hand slipped his glasses off without a word, then half-gently propped his nodding head against the shoulder beside him.

“Thattaboy, Spengs, just take it easy and we’ll wake you when we’re home.”

Home. As far as Egon Spengler was concerned, he was already there. He shifted his cheek more comfortably against Peter’s soft jacket and let himself slide off to sleep.

The End


End file.
